


the words i speak are wildfires and weeds

by MossGarden



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, F/F, Happy Ending, Mamacostia makes an appearance too!, Post-Finale, Raelle needs therapy you guys, Tally isn't there but she is mentioned for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MossGarden/pseuds/MossGarden
Summary: Scylla thinks Raelle is dead. Raelle thinks Scylla is gone. Anacostia thinks they need to fix whatever went wrong.AKA, my vision for the Raylla reunion. Occurs after the finale; Raelle has returned to Fort Salem and Scylla is working as a spy for the army.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 212





	the words i speak are wildfires and weeds

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism is always appreciated!! let me know what you thought in the comments below, and please enjoy :>
> 
> (title is the first lyric of Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives)

“Private Collar, I need to see you.” 

Raelle’s chin jerked up and her eyes met those of Anacostia Quartermaine. She was leaning against the doorframe of her unit’s room, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Not a common sight, Raelle noted, and tilted her head curiously, leaning forward from her bedside perch and resting her forearms on her knees. It was fairly late; the last few beams of the day’s golden sunlight were delicately dusting the room with an orange glow. Abigail was out for dinner with some friends again to take the edge off, and Tally - Well. Tally wouldn’t be back for a while, now.

Tally. Tally Craven, who wouldn’t be back, because -

_ Blood and dust everywhere, the hot taste of magic on her tongue, her throat burning from overuse, ears ringing from the screams - So, so, so many screams, torn violently from her voice and from others. She couldn’t hear the difference anymore. _

_ “I didn’t know what else to do,” Tally gasped into her ear with a voice far too old for her - Tally, their walking exclamation point, their golden heart, the glue of their unit - and leaned heavily against Raelle, who could only feel her heart go numb. _

_ “You did good, Tal.” _

“Collar?”

Raelle flinched, instinctively, but it wasn’t the harsh voice she was used to. Her gaze had dropped back down to her combat boots, fearful of scrutiny from the older, wiser woman. But Anacostia’s footsteps were soft against the hardwood floor, light as a feather as if not to stir a sleeping bear. Raelle pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing as she tried to wash the memories away. “Is it about the Witchbomb again? Izadora already talked to Abigail and I and she said th-”

“Raelle.”

A warm hand rested on her shoulder and the private looked up, brow furrowed in wary surprise. Anacostia’s eyes were gentle, and tender, and that was terrifying. Drill Sergeant Quartermaine had never once been  _ gentle _ and _ tender _ with her recruits. She had prepared them for war. Whatever was coming, then, Raelle couldn’t be prepared for.

“...Sergeant?”

Anacostia spoke clearly, with no hesitation. “I have some news.” She paused, searching for a reaction, and got nothing out of Raelle’s stormy gaze. “I think it’d be best if you saw for yourself.”

Quartermaine stepped back, gave her some space, as she slowly rose to her feet. Raelle frowned as she followed her Drill Sergeant out of the room. Something was very, very wrong.

The hallways were fairly empty. Raelle imagined that her fellow recruits - no, soldiers, that’s what they were now - would be out eating dinner, or messing around with their units in the fields, or training harder than they’d ever had before. She could hear a distant rumble, like a tornado, and her hand instinctively flew to her bowerbird charm.

No, wait, no charm anymore. Just an angry scar inches from her heart.

Raelle shook her head, shook her mind back into the present. They were in another wing of Fort Salem now, climbing a set of carpeted stairs, and the hallway’s automated lamps were beginning to flicker on slowly as the last of the dappled sunlight had disappeared from the windows. Anacostia took a left turn, then a right turn, and then they were- Oh.

“Scylla’s room.” The words slipped quietly from Raelle’s lips, barely more than a breath. She looked at Anacostia, searched her expression for an explanation. Quartermaine’s gaze softened when she saw the confusion, the hurt, the flood of memories sweeping over Raelle’s face. “Why would you take me here?”

Scylla was - Scylla wasn’t dead, not yet, but she was gone forever, and that was just as bad. Her room must’ve been cleaned out now, ready for some new bright-eyed Necro to take her place in a heartbeat.

“Raelle,” the Sergeant said gently. “There are some things you need to know, but I can’t be the one you find out from.” She inclined her head to the door, peacefully closed shut. “Your answers are in there. I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay?”

Raelle looked to Anacostia, to the door, and back again. “Sergeant, what’s going on? I-” Anacostia’s gaze was firm, but not unkind, and she stepped a few paces away from the door as if giving permission for entry. After a nervous swallow, Raelle found her hand coming to rest on the doorknob. It was cold, and worn, and it turned without a sound.

The door swung open, and there she was. The girl who was gone forever.

The first thing Raelle heard was a gasp. Scylla’s jaw hung open, but words seemed to escape her. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, as if to hold back a silent scream. And then there were those frozen blue eyes, digging into her own, threatening to shake her apart.

The second thing Raelle heard was, “they told me you were dead.”

The door closed behind Raelle with a soft click and she leaned against it heavily, eyes wide. “They told me you were gone.”

It should’ve been impossible. Scylla was supposed to be locked away in a maximum-security prison, and Raelle was supposed to never think of her again. And yet, there she was, sitting on her old bed, dressed in a heavy brown coat and jeans. Civilian clothes. Staring up at her with shock, or fear, or hope, or some awful mixture of the three. Raelle could only shake her head in disbelief.

“How...?”

Scylla blinked once, twice, steeled herself as she responded. “Anacostia broke me out. She said I could work as a double agent.”

Raelle could only nod. That made sense. Anacostia saw opportunities and took them where she could. Scylla was... She was here. She was safe.

They stayed like that for a time. The room was cold and the silence stretched for miles, with only the faint buzz of the lights and the heavy, sturdy ticking of the clock. Raelle found Scylla’s eyes boring into her, waiting for anything. Raelle could look anywhere in the room but her.

Scylla let out a sharp, dark laugh then, and their little moment of formalities and clipped peace was over. “This is quite the reunion, isn’t it? It’s been lovely catching up with you, Raelle.”

“...I don’t know what you want me to say, Scyl,” Raelle said quietly as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I almost thought you’d be angry at me, to be honest,” she replied, and Raelle could  _ hear _ the sarcasm slipping back into her voice. That was her, that was Scylla. “That would probably be a good starting point. Better than nothing at all, at least.”

“...I’m too tired to be angry at you.”

_ That _ shifted something dramatically. Raelle looked back up and saw Scylla’s features crack in half, saw her stand and take two careful steps forward. Her brow furrowed. She approached Raelle as if she was a wounded animal, backed into a corner. It looked like she pitied her. Raelle  _ hated _ being pitied. She could be wild if she wanted.

“C’mon, Rae,” Scylla said softly. She reached out for Raelle’s hand, the one hanging uselessly at her side. “Where’s that storm and fury-”

“Don’t!”

Raelle pulled violently away from the shock of Scylla’s electrifying touch, and the other girl flinched at the sudden yell. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

“...I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes staring at the ground, and she stepped back. “I shouldn’t have.”

Raelle saw her, small and afraid, and suddenly she wanted to scream at her. Wanted to tell her how much it hurt when she tore out her heart, wanted to make her feel that ache. She wanted to shove her away and make her feel weak and broken and make her understand exactly how she destroyed her. Raelle was full of sharp, bright pain, and there was no one left to blame but Scylla. She could’ve thrown her out then and there, storm away and tell Anacostia that working with a traitor would lead to nothing but more destruction.

Instead, she sighed. “No, I’m sorry.” Scylla glanced back up, hopeful, as Raelle wrapped her arms around herself. “...It’s just going to take me some time.”

Scylla nodded in quiet resignation, eyes darting away and back again. She folded her hands together, twisted and tangled her fingers, and Raelle wished she had something better to say. The foot of space between them felt like miles to cross. Raelle would’ve traveled that distance and more, once upon a time.

“Do you miss me?” said Scylla quietly, and Raelle wasn’t sure how many more pieces her heart could crack into. “After everything that’s happened?”

Raelle looked at her for a long time. Her dark hair, slightly disheveled from travel, was loose and free of braids. There was dirt under her fingernails and calluses on her palms, and she looked just a little too weary to have been in her old room for long. Her boots were stained with grass and dried mud and were terribly creased from running. Raelle took in the slope of her neck, then, and the softness of her lips, and the curve of her cheek and her deeply, overwhelmingly sad eyes, and Raelle was suffocating in their gaze. She wished she could say no.

“How could I not?”

And there was the ugly, undeniable truth.

Scylla blinked once, twice, and Raelle hated how reasonable it was for Scylla to be surprised. She’d been destructive, and impulsive, and unfair, and she hated herself for that, and she  _ hated herself- _

“I know I messed up.” Scylla worried at her bottom lip for a moment, and Raelle waited. She would always wait for her. “I lied to you, in the beginning. I thought it would just be a simple mission. But I fell for you, so hard, and I  _ swear _ to you that everything else was real, and I protected you as much as I could.”

She extended a hand to her, and her cool eyes were suddenly filling with tears. “Please tell me how to fix this, Raelle.”

Raelle felt an ache deep in her bones. She was tired, so tired. She wanted to go home.

Scylla was her home, she thought, as she took her hand and pulled her into a soft kiss.

She melted into Raelle’s arms like warm butter. A small sigh escaped Scylla’s lips when Raelle brought her free hand up to caress her cheek, and she leaned gently into the touch. Goddess, Raelle missed her. Her lungs were aching from longing, her heart tore at its cage. Kissing Scylla was like coming up for air, breaking the surface of a cold lake and finding warm, sweet wind above.

Scylla pulled away all too soon, opting to bury her nose in the crook of Raelle’s neck as her arms slid under her jacket and she collapsed into a warm hug. Raelle tangled her hand in Scylla’s dark hair and held her close, close to her heart, enveloping her as best she could. She smelled like earth and blood, like the end of a long, hard journey.

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” she said quietly, words muffled as she pressed her lips to the hair tangled behind Scylla’s ear. “But I’m going to try. I love you too much not to try.”

Scylla laughed into her neck, and Raelle felt the warm grin against her skin. “There’s that southern charm I missed.”

“You know, a friend once told me something important,” Raelle mused as Scylla snuggled into her. “He said that if you love someone, and they’re worth it, you fight for them.”

She felt the other girl pull away slightly, felt a hand come up to her jaw and lightly angle it downwards. Scylla gazed at her, curiosity quirking her brow. 

Raelle opened her mouth to speak, and then three sharp knocks at the door stole her words. “Collar, Ramshorn! I don’t care what you’re doing in there, General Alder wants to speak with you immediately!”  
  
“Shit, Quartermaine,” was what Raelle said to Scylla, and Scylla snorted.

“What a romantic evening. Me, my girlfriend, and my girlfriend’s Drill Sergeant. Do you think we should go to the Italian place for dinner?”

Raelle couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The knocking came back, louder, and Scylla begrudgingly pulled away. Raelle left an arm draped around her shoulder protectively, though, as she pulled the door open.

“Ramshorn, if you-” Anacostia took in the scene, and raised her eyebrows but said nothing more. She inclined her head down the hallway, where a messenger that Raelle didn’t recognize was hurrying off. “Go with her,” she said. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll leave you be.”

The Sergeant turned on her heel and strode in the opposite direction, and Raelle whispered a silent thank you. Things could’ve gone differently, and she didn’t have to stay for her. 

Scylla tugged her in the direction of the messenger, and Raelle let herself be led across the hardwood flooring. “What did you say to him? Your friend?”  
  
Raelle grinned at the memory of lying in the grass at night, hot air swirling up and tousling her unbraided hair, the bright lights hung in the dark trees, and Byron’s annoyingly pink suit. “I didn’t say anything,” she replied, “but I should’ve.”

She glanced over and saw Scylla smile reassuringly. Goddess, Raelle had forgotten how much she’d loved that smile.

“I should’ve told him he was right. You were worth fighting for.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on Tumblr @seraappreciationday, where I spend my time crying over gifsets of Raelle's arms.


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